


Protocols

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguements, Desk, Drinking, F/M, Hunter being a helpful shipper skipper, Kissing, Office, Phil Coulson has always been in love with Skye, Protocols, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sexy makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not really sure where I intended to go with this.  Just some drabble about Coulson waiting for permission, mostly!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protocols

“Tense little moment back there.  With you and the Director.”

She hears the sound of the bottle top coming off and is immediately on edge.  And the way he said ‘Director’, like it was multi-syllabled.

“Yeah?” she replies. “Well, it’s my op.”

He stares at her for a moment, hesitating.

“I always knew we’d be fast friends,” he answers, jumping and landing onto the couch, proud of himself for not spilling a drop of beer.

He relaxes then takes a drink as she sighs.

The room is empty and it’s very late.  She’s using beer to grab some extra calories after the workout her powers had today, and what’s his excuse?

“You mean when you told me not to get too attached?” she replies dryly, taking a sip of her warmish beer.

“I give very good advice,” he says, sing-song. “But I very seldom follow it.”

“Alice In Wonderland,” she recalls.  The nuns let them watch that one, probably because mostly bad stuff happened to Alice when she was too curious.

It’s so true, though, and she’s not wanting to delve into the past at the moment.

Not at all.

“Yes, darling,” he answers, cracking his neck. “Through the Looking Glass, indeed.”

When she doesn’t reply, his face gets contemplative for a moment, and she knows he’s thinking about Bobbi.

Hunter is _not_ that complicated of a person.

“He’s just pushing you, y’know,” he says, half-turning to her so as not to give up his comfort too much.  “The way you do him.”

She rolls her eyes at that.

“We’re still making up the rules as we go,” she answers.  “How can you actually expect someone to have an answer when there are no protocols to go by?”

“You still think he cares about protocols?” he asks, a bit of lilt to his voice. “Or having all the answers?”

“I think he’s looking for something to ground it in.”

It comes across more defensive than she means it to be. It’s hard right now for everything to not feel somehow...personal.

“Heh.”

He chuckles twice, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Okay, nice talking to you,” she says, standing up and walking to pour the rest of her beer down the sink.

“He’s looking to you,” he answers, as she starts to walk away. “He has nothing else to go by.”

It makes her think back.  Their conversation in the cabin, and him saying she was the only one who could figure it out.

“We have a protocol for everything.”

“I guess,” he shrugs.  “For those that want to have protocols.”

She narrows her eyes at him, and wonders what this digging is about. 

With a sigh she pours out the rest of the beer and shakes her head.

“Would you say it was following protocol to chase an agent down into an underground temple rigged to explode?”

“God, Hunter,” she said, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Right now, or-“

“Ever,” she annunciates, as she walks past him.

She can hear him chuckling to himself.

 

###

Even as she walks quickly back to her bunk, she can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s bothering her.

Don’t they need a protocol for dealing with powered people?

Just to make sure that whoever comes after them doesn’t make their same mistakes?

And what’s she supposed to do with that, huh?

That he’s looking to _her_.

Well, of course he is, she’s the only Inhuman in SHIELD.

It’s not like he knows how Terrigenesis works or feels.  How terrifying it is.

He was down there.

Why?

She bumps headlong into him as she turns the corner down the corridor.

“Hey,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“Sir,” she says, getting her footing again.

His face looks pensive, and she knows what this means.

He wants to talk.

“Look,” she starts.  “It’s really late.”

She watches him swallow for a moment, then look down, away, back up again.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“Good,” she says, crossing her arms.

“For pushing too hard,” he said. “Not for the…general pushing part.”

Wow. The nerve of hm.

Without even thinking, she’s put her hand on her hip and then catches herself when she sees him looking down at it.

She grabs her arm instead, and shifts her weight.

He looks like he’s been in the gym again.  Late for him. 

Guess he was working through things, too.

“Why were you in the temple?” she blurts out, looking back up at his face.

His head jerks back for a moment, like he’s thrown off guard.

And then his face changes, and she can tell instantly, he doesn’t want to talk about this.

“What does this have to do with today?”

“Protocol,” she answers. “You were breaking protocol.”

“Uh huh,” he replies slowly, like he thinks there’s got to be a catch.

“Do you even care about them?” she goes on, gesturing at him.

“Sure,” he answers, smiling slightly.

He’s lying.

“I don’t think you do.”

“I’m more concerned,” he says, looking down at the towel in his hands (that he’s been nervously twisting for the last couple of moments), “That you trust in what you’re doing.  Yourself.”

“So it’s not even about protocols?” she answers, frustrated.

“It hasn’t been for awhile, Agent Johnson,” he says, looking up at her, locking eyes.

“Oh.”

He nods to himself, and then takes a breath as he passes by her in the hall.

“Goodnight, then.  Sir.”

 

###

 

He’s sitting in his office with his head buried in a file.

So she taps on the door frame to let him know she’s there.

It’s been a busy week and she hasn’t had much time to spend alone with him.

Putting out fires. 

Literal, fires, caused by people with powers, and also, the non-literal kind.

He looks up and sits back for a moment.

“Agent.”

She takes that as her cue to come further in.

“Brought you a present,” she says, her hands behind her back.

His expression turns soft and he gives her a smile.

“Really?”

“No,” she says, and takes the field report from behind her back and puts in on the top of the pile on his desk.

“Hilarious,” he says, drolly, while she laughs at herself.

“I’m sorry,” she says through her smile, “That was mean.”

He sighs, and pushes back from the desk, standing.

“I needed an excuse, anyway,” he says, coming around the desk. “This was as good as any.”

It’s true.  He’s been burning the midnight oil, and he’d keep going until he was about to fall asleep at his desk.

He has a tendency to avoid paperwork until he can’t avoid it.

There’s also a lot more of it these days.

“So,” he says. “Was there anything else? Because I’m starving.”

“Actually, yes,” she says nervously, looking up at him for a minute, then throwing her arms around his neck.

She feels his hands slowly press against her back, hugging her.

They haven’t done this in what feels like ages.

He sighs into her hair, and she thinks she understands now.

She pulls away and he starts to let her go, but she stops, and instead leans back in.

Just shy of his lips.  He’s holding his breath.

But he’s not stopping her.

“Okay,” she says, running her hand up the front of his unbuttoned dress shirt.

She can feel his heart beating into the palm of her hand.

Then she brushes her lips against his, feeling him start to breathe again, short and shallow.

She presses her mouth to his full on, and his fingers spread against her lower back, then draw her in closer to him, like he wants to have even more of her.

Her hand darts up to brush against his face, and his mouth opens under hers.

She slips her tongue against his in reply, then moves with him until he’s backed against his own desk, trapped between it and her.

Now he’s kissing back, one hand on her hip, the other one at the nape of her neck, the back and forth of giving and letting go of control building between them.

She pulls back to look at him, his lips reddened from her kisses.  His eyes bluer now than she remembers.

“God, Skye.  You’re so beautiful.”

“I want this,” she says, demanding.  Tugging at the front his shirt, kissing him fiercely, feeling him match her again.

Pulling her up against his lap as he braces himself back against the desk.

Something about him has always drawn her.  From the moment they first met.

She just thought because of…

Protocols.

That she could have everything.

But this.


End file.
